by D. H. Aire
“Toward Tane, Sir.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Erkiil I know… Ask the Scryers if they’ve any steeds with them. That boy, Thomi, unlikely as it seems, may have pulled off a miracle.”
#
The mage tracking Lady Hayden cursed, seeing the shoes floating down the river.
“Where is she?” the captain of Kolter’s personal guard rasped.
“She ditched the shoes,” the mage replied. “She’ll be making her way to the city, though.”
“Of course, she is, and we’re going to have a merry old time ducking his garrisons closer to the city. Half our bloody army is engaged not five leagues from here.”
“She can’t have gotten far.”
“Unless she’s swimming down river,” the captain replied, grimacing.
“Um, she must be too exhausted… More likely Tane scouts have her now.”
“Lovely thought.”
“Which means we might still catch her.”
“Or die trying… What a mess,” the captain replied. He gestured and his hundred riders resumed their hunt.
#
The ship reached the upper city dock. Soldiers in Tane livery were everywhere. “What’s going on?” the captain shouted as his crew worked to secure the moorings.
A harbor man came running, “Haydenese soldiers have crossed the border! We’re securing the harbor. No one disembarks until you’ve been cleared!”
“I’ve cargo for Weilan! And I’m supposed to ship a load to Hollif!”
“Captain, you’re going to be delayed… There are twenty ships on hold now and none are being allowed up the locks!”
“This is intolerable!” the captain cried.
“Argue with me and I’ll see you cleared weeks from now!”
From his perch atop the stack of crates, Spiro listened beneath the cargo hatch.
“Well?” Tett whispered.
“The harbor’s closed and the ship’s to be searched.”
Eyes wide, “What are we going to do?”
Spiro cautiously clampered down. “You swim?”
“I’m a dwarf!”
“Shh. I know… dwarves don’t swim.”
“Like you do.”
“I do actually… I took threats to drown me as a boy, seriously.”
“They threatened that a lot.”
“They more than threatened folk… They threw a boy into the harbor for stealing an apple.”
“Oh.”
“Luckily I could hold my breath… That’s also when I learned to swim and realized I hated this place.”
Tett nodded, “Uh, I understand that. But, um, how are we going to get out of here.”
“With magery and you’re going to learn, if not how to swim, the next best thing.”
“Huh?”
Chapter 33 - Black Out
They arrived with a small group of refugees, who had walked for leagues. To say Bastian was already crowded was an understatement. The Imperial guards at first refused them entry.
An exhausted looking sergeant said through the portcullis, “Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve my orders. Fenn du Blain’s Gwedian army is staging siege energies and will be outside these walls in hours. We can’t chance taking in any spies.”
She said, “Do we look like spies to you?”
The sergeant blinked, “You are the strangest group of refugees I have ever seen.”
He meant that. A naked brown haired young woman, wrapped in a blanket, a barefoot adolescent, who looked to be a couple of years older than the boy of fourteen or so, wearing a robe with its hood pulled over his head, and an old Chainhill medicine man, wearing a beaded jerkin, surrounded by a dozen quite large hounds, who eyed the sergeant and those watching from the gate towers and parapets.
She glanced at the boy and nodded. He lowered his hood. “Please, inform your commander that Duncan, Prince of Gwire, awaits entry.”
Gaping, the sergeant ordered the portcullis raised and a protection detail, uncertain whether the boy was going to need them or whether the Legion would. If this was another of Fenn du Blain’s schemes like the one that he used to betray the King of Gwire under a flag of truce or… “Welcome to Bastian, Milord.”
The boy nodded, glancing at his bodyguard. The blanket wrapped young woman followed him within, earning a great many stares from not only the crowds of refugees, but all the Legionnaires. The woman, who had found the Prince with the Chainhill medicine man and his four-footed companions and led them unerringly through du Blain’s patrols, paused, looking back toward the growing number of Gwedian soldiers.
Her eyes went unfocused.
One of the rather large hounds rubbed its flank against her leg.
The Seeress blinked, glanced down, “Just as I saw it…”
#
“How could we lose contact?” the Empress raged.
Esperanza bowed, “Your Majesty, if I didn’t know better I’d say… the Imperial nodes are flaring.”
“Then, have the warders fix them!”
Lord Senian said, “I’ve sent for Master Stenh after asking the warders here in the palace to work their magery.”
“And?”
“They say they don’t understand what’s happening. The node is posing no threat to the city it’s just, they called it, acting out.”
“Acting out? Like some misbehaving child?”
Senian nodded, looking down, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Lady Babylon!”
Lonny came forward, “Your Majesty?”
“Is such a thing possible?”
“Yes, but it hasn’t happened in… centuries.”
The Empress sighed, “Lady Esperanza, scrying within the city is unaffected?”
“That is correct, Your Majesty.”
“Then perhaps going outside the city your scryers might yet link to General Winterhil at least?”
Esperanza blinked, “We shall try that immediately.”
“And send messengers south and north as well, if we can’t scry, we can at least get word of what’s happening as human and dwarves seem to do.”
“At once, Your Majesty,” Senian said, bowing and hurriedly following Lady Esperanza from the Court.
“Now, what matters are on today’s docket?” the Empress asked, returning to her throne.
Herald Varian strode forward, “Your Majesty, before you today seeking audience…”
The Empress sat back and leaned close to Lonny, “I wish Je’orj were here. He would know what to do.”
“He might,” she whispered, “but I’ve a suspicion this is somehow his fault.”
“Oh, then everything will be fine. It’s our enemies who should be worried.”
Lonny blinked, “Uh, yes, Your Majesty.”
#
“What do you mean you can’t scry them?” Kolter yelled.
The scrying master winced, “Milord, one moment we were watching your army drive back the Tane and the next.” He snapped his fingers, “The link just vanished. We can see for leagues around the city, but no longer even half the distance to the border.”
“We must find the little minx before she falls into Tane’s hands,” Kolter added.
The scryer swallowed, knowing Lady Hayden had officially taken residence outside the city and knew it was a lie. Her coach had never left the city. He nodded, “We are doing are best.”
“Any idea why this has happened?”
“None, Milord.”
“You can link to the scryer a few leagues away… Can’t they see farther still?”
“It like there’s a wall.”
“Then establish a scryer’s post outside it with riders to report back.”
“Yes, Milord,” he rushed out, knowing it would do no good. Scrying had gone dark. Yet obeying offered him his best chance of surviving. He would have an apprentice report next… his expected accidental death might assuage Kolter’s anger.
#
Lord Tane yelled, “I dare not send more troops out there blind!”
&
nbsp; “Milord, they search for her, still,” the old mage said as they looked out from the tower out at the Aqwaine River, stretching north in the distance.
“Better she had fled to the Empress and pleaded for that fool father of hers release,” Lord Tane said, “then Kolter would have to launch his attack, which he is less than ready for now that we’re blooding his troops.”
“Uh, Milord, messengers are reporting our troops falling back.”
“We’ll send every man we can spare. I want the Haydenese to learn that I’m not one to be played with. Better yet, the Empress will realize just how loyal I am. That should give Tristan another chance to poison that human mage, who dared marry our beloved young and foolish Empress.”
The old man frowned, leaned on the stone railing, chanting a spell which rippled the air. The air lensed. He gestured and the image scoped.
“What’s that?” Lord Tane said. “Hayden’s troops would not be so foolish.”
“Too few. Two horses. Two incredibly fast ones, at that. Only one rider… no, two riding double, Milord!”
Lord Tane looked over his shoulder and stared, “My niece?”
#
Sianhiel’s eyes narrowed as Casber, astride the white unicorn, Greth pacing them rode toward him at the head of the column.
“Lord Sianhiel,” Casber said, feigning a smile as the locals stared from behind windows, peered from alleyways and doors of the old stone buildings that made up most of the oldest sections of the Margins. Their furtive presence did not make any of those riding north feel any sense of comfort.
“What do you want, Casber?”
“Uh, I need an escort…”
“You’ve an army at your back,” he replied.
“Um, I need a smaller one…”
“You aren’t going anywhere, lad. Your uncle promises to give me an itch no amount of scratching will help, if anything happens to you.”
Greth grinned, “Give him a big escort then.”
“Where, pray tell, are you planning to go?”
“Um, not far,” Casber replied.
“Not good enough.”
The unicorn glared.
“She says that you should ask the Highmage’s approval.”
Sianhiel shook his head, “Somehow I think it best, I don’t… Where are you planning to go?”
“The Consecrated’s Tower.”
“Oh,” he chuckled, “so I’ve got to find you an escort of virgins.”
Greth grimaced, “What?”
“Oh, you do know that only virgins come and go on the Tower grounds?”
The troll glared at the unicorn, “Somehow, no one mentioned that.”
“We won’t be gone long,” Casber said at the unicorn’s urging.
“Greth, I don’t really want to ask…”
“He’ll need another bodyguard there,” Greth admitted.
Casber frowned.
With a sigh, Sianhiel said, “Now we have to chat with the Highmage…”
#
Aaprin swallowed as Lord Sianhiel explained that Casber apparently needed to run an errand at the Consecrated’s Tower.
“I’ll send a hundred Legionnaires with them,” Sianhiel said. “However, there’s the small matter of his safety once he’s on the Consecrated’s ground.”
Frowning, Gallen wondered what the issue was as Aaprin gave a sage looking nod.
“It’s virgin ground, Milord… He’ll need a virgin bodyguard and I’ve my concerns for finding a single Legionnaire willing to admit such a thing. Hence, I think he’ll need to borrow the one virgin bodyguard I know to be worth ten men at least.”
Aaprin looked confused, then heard the gentle gasp and turned to stare at “Raven.”
Juels gulped.
The unicorn gave her a look… a very long look.
Gallen paled, knowing her illusion wouldn’t hold.
‘Yes, it will,’ the unicorn shared.
Aaprin blinked. “Uh, Raven, watch over our young friend here.”
The unicorn sidled over to Andre and Juels’ battle steed and after a moment’s hesitation, Juels’, appearing to those around her as Raven in beast form, hopped up behind Casber. His eyes widened as he felt a girl’s arm cross around his chest.
‘Don’t say a word, Casber,’ the unicorn said, then cantered off as Lord Sianhiel ordered a detachment as escort, and Greth ran after.
#
Leaving the Margins an hour later, Lord Sianhiel breathed a sigh of relief, having half expected assassins to stage a riot.
A small detachment of Legionnaires under the banner of the First Legion rode toward them. He raised his hand and they slowed to a halt, “General Graymantel sends his greeting, Milord. He appreciates the arrival of your reinforcements.”
The veteran beside him rasped, “Marshall General Sianhiel to you, Sir.”
The young officer’s eyes widened. “We received no word.”
“The Scryers links are down… I am to take command and see to what succor we may provide Bastian.”
The officer shook his head. “Bastian is lost.”
“It has fallen?”
“No, General… but it is hopeless.”
“That is for the Highmage and me to judge.”
“The Highmage?” the officer rasped.
He grimaced, “The Empress did not want to send word of his coming ahead.”
The officer frowned, “Sorry, Milord, uh, Marshall General.”
Sianhiel gestured and the column rode forward. The officer and his men stared as two civilians rode up to them. The black liveried woman frowned, “You seem to have irritated Lord Sianhiel.”
“I, uh, didn’t mean to.”
“Truth,” the man whispered.
The officer blinked.
“My friend here thinks you amusing.”
“Amusing?” he said, forced to stare up at her atop the tall warhorse akin to a number of those he saw being ridden past.
“Oh, do you like our horses?”
“I’ve never seen their like before.”
“Truth.”
“You doubtless will be seeing a lot more, if there are traitors about.”
“Traitors?”
“Or fools, perhaps… Do you think there are a lot of traitors and fools in the High Command here?”
He swallowed, “No, Milady.”
“Lie!” the man rasped.
Cle’or smiled, “There’s hope for you yet.”
He blinked as the pair rode on.
#
The Legion’s Citadel stretched for miles and served as the reserve Headquarters for the Legion’s assigned to support Bastian. It was one of a string of citadels along the Empire’s northern border, connected via the Great Wall, perched at the Empire’s edge, where the land was a daunting cliff face, baring the Dark Lord’s minions from invading for thousands of years.
Lord Graymantel glared as the younger elflord arrived, “Ah, the Empress’s errand boy. So, now the Empress sends me our promised reinforcements at long last.”
“How many Legionnaires have you sent down and how many refugees have you managed to bring up from Bastian?” Lord Sianhiel asked.
“What are you talking about? Send anyone? Bring up refugees? Are you mad, Sianhiel? They are as good as dead.”
Sianhiel’s eyes widened, “You fool!”
“How dare you? Just because you were Senason’s toy doesn’t—” Graymantel gasped.
Sianhiel’s bane sword was at his throat. It blazed.
“The Empress will have your head for this,” Graymantel cried.
“Actually, that may be your fate. She made me Marshall General of the Legions,” Sianhiel said. “You arrogant fool.”
Both Sianhiel’s and Graymantel’s guards had raised their swords in defense of their commander, now half lowered them.
A man with a wooden staff in his hand entered with two black liveried Cathartans, “You will present this poor excuse for an elflord to the Truthsayer for judgement.”
“Who are you?” Graymantel rasped.
“This is the Highmage Je’orj du Bradlei, the Empress’s husband,” Sianhiel replied, smiling thinly.
“The Highmage here? Impossible!” he demanded as Sianhiel pressed the bane sword closer to his throat.
“You doubt me?” the Highmage said, glaring as his staff burst in blue flame and the Cathartans drew their swords.
Graymantel suddenly made a strangling noise and went pale, eyes going wide. “What did you do?” he gasped.
“Warded your magery. Check him for charms,” the Highmage said. Sianhiel stepped back as the general was hustled out demanding to be released.
Graymantel’s Legionnaire guards lowered their swords.
#
‘Thank you, Rexil,’ Aaprin said mentally.
“There are advantages to being a warder mage,” Rexil replied, then winced, “Ow.”
“Advantages my…” she muttered floating past him.
“Shannon, I, uh, didn’t mean anything like that.”
‘If you two would stop bickering,’ Gallen mentally ordered, ‘we’re in the middle of important business.’
#
“Where are the other senior officers?” Sianhiel asked the guards.
A Legionnaire laid his sword on the ground and replied, “At the Officers’ Mess, Milord… All save Major Maylik. He’s in a detention cell.”
“What for?” Sianhiel said, glancing at the Highmage and Se’and, who now stood guard behind him.
“He brought up a group of refugees against orders, Sir.”
“Wealthy ones?”
“No, Marshall General. His crime was sending down supplies, and bringing up the sick and injured. They’re in the infirmary, Milord. The General was furious. He had him arrested for insubordination.”
Sianhiel glanced at the Highmage, then said to the Legionnaire, “Go free Major Maylik and tell him to go back to sending down more supplies and bringing up as many refugees as he can. I’ll prepare a message for the commander at Bastian shortly.”
Eyes wide, “Thank you, General.” He picked up his sword and ran from the room.
“Now, you, gentlemen, will accompany us to the Officers’ Mess… so we can begin clearing up this whole mess. By your leave, Highmage.”
The guised Aaprin nodded.
#
Mounted soldiers in Tane’s livery rode out from the main city gate and after a moment’s hesitation, escorted them back.